


Biscuit Week #Flourmageddon,  aka the one where 2D blows up the Bake Off tent

by eon_s



Category: Gorillaz, The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Anxiety Attacks, Baking, Cartoon Physics, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crushes, Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Protective Murdoc Niccals, Reality TV, Sad Stuart "2D" Pot, Smoking, Texting, This Is STUPID, also the fire pit challenge, and that's coming from someone who wrote porn about kidney stones, but no this is it, exploding tents, gbbo au, lenny face - Freeform, mentions of #bingate, murdoc tries to be nice, swan shaped scones, this is my best, this is the most absurd thing i've ever written, while flour can be explosive i doubt it could be this explosive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon_s/pseuds/eon_s
Summary: The GBBO-AU nobody needed. Just a drabble (that turned into 5 pages) based on an idea that came to me based on a comment on another one of my Gorillaz fics.What season of GBBO you ask? Ehhhhhhh. It's debatable. In this version, they're on Channel 4, but it's still Mel/Sue/Mary/Paul and the dynamic is a lot like the earlier seasons. But there's also some references to infamous GBBO moments from later seasons. SO WHO KNOWS. I'm just here to shitpost and write fluffy crack. Same applies to what phase of Gorillaz. Less-abusive Murdoc being genuinely a sweetheart but still a disaster of a person. Sad youngish 2D being a derp who can't bake.(Also in this 2D and Murdoc don't know each other before competing and aren't musicians. They're just there to make SWAN SHAPED SCONES.)
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Biscuit Week #Flourmageddon,  aka the one where 2D blows up the Bake Off tent

**Author's Note:**

> what is this why did i write it

* * *

“Do you smell… burning?”

The comment, fired off by a cocky undergraduate, puts the fear of God in his fellow contestants. There’s a scramble as they try to pinpoint the source of the smoke and odor.

“Oh, I think your scones are on fire, pet!”

A matronly older woman waves her hand to get 2D’s attention, and the lanky man startles and whirls around, flour whooshing up from the bench top.

“No, don’t open –”

He pulls down the oven door, yelping as the hot handle burns his palm, and then everything happens all at once. He’s aware of someone knocking into him, then blackness.

He comes to, dazed, and is greeted by the on-set medics and the fellow contestants who fuss over him. Mel and Sue do their best to keep the cameras off him, but he can already see how his story arc will be edited – the clumsy moron who nearly killed himself opening a flaming oven while the air was full of flour, thereby blowing up half the tent.

“Hey,” another contestant grunts, sitting down next to him while 2D waits for the ambulance. Murdoc Niccals on-camera is sure to look like the token oddball – the rough, tough ex-con who discovered baking on his path to social reintegration. The editors will make him a villain with a heart of gold unless a straight villain would work better (2D doubts it. The appetite for editing for cruelty’s sake just isn’t there – especially not since #BinGate,) but in reality he’s less ‘dark, mysterious, and tormented’ and more ‘ornery and a bit awkward.’ The is-a-Satanist thing has had to be played down – no one wants to worry the network or upset the grannies watching at home. It puts him a bit on the outs with the other bakers, but 2D likes him well enough, likes his whole look, really. The Beatles-y sixties revival vibe really works for him. Stu’s kept that under wraps, of course – wouldn’t do to have the fans speculating.

“Here,” Murdoc says gruffly, offering him a fag when the medics backs are turned. “Don’t blow up the rest of the tent.”

“No one got hurt, did they?” 2D asks worriedly. He has a horrifying vision of a ball of flame flinging Mary Berry through the air and shudders.

“No one but you.”

“Oh.”

He feels like an idiot. He’s felt that way for a while, honestly – the other bakers are better than he is, know more. Even the fresh-faced Noodle, who’s still in her teens and by far the youngest, can run rings around him. He’d have lost this week for sure – gone home for his lumpy scones that were supposed to have raisins in except he forgot them on his bench.

“What’s that look for?” the older man asks. “You’re lucky as anything – no way they can judge this week’s. If it were me who blew the tent up, they’d think I did it on purpose – not that I’d have had to. My scones looked fucking fantastic – like _swans_ , and – you _didn’t_ do this on purpose… did you?”

“No!” he exclaims, and his voice cracks loud enough for Mel to look over at him, visibly concerned. He nods at her, reassuring her that he’s fine. He wants to disappear, sinking ever deeper into mortification and anxiety.

“M’not good at being on telly,” he whispers shakily. “I’m not good at baking. I’m not good at – at life.”

He’s nearly hysterical and it’s the worst possible time. The cameramen are still about, circling the smouldering remains of the tent like sharks. He can’t take anything to calm himself down – his weed is far far away in a jar under his bed at home and his pills –

He flails madly, groping for the little bottle in the pocket of his jeans and sighing in relief when his fingers find it. Too late, he’s aware of how it might look to the cameras and he freezes. Murdoc raises an eyebrow, still sucking on the end of his fag.

“It’s not – it’s all legal,” 2D rambles. “My tablets – for anxiety, y’know. Just to – j-just – just to help.”

Murdoc says, loudly, “Fine, I’ll get you a bloody cup, you tent-demolishing twat.”

He winks, then, for 2D’s eyes only, and theatrically storms away, making a big show of being irritated. The cameras swarm and follow him. 2D relishes the relative peace, taking deep breaths and trying to center himself and put the image of burning scones out of his mind.

“Sod off, the lot of you. Go interview one of the old women who don’t approve of me,” Murdoc barks at the cameras who, fearful of his sour mood, back off as instructed. He hands 2D a mug of steaming hot tea. 2D frowns at it.

“Coffee mug?”

“You blew up most of the crockery, luv.”

Blushing, 2D reaches for his pills again but Murdoc shakes his head.

“Don’t need it, mate. I’ve sorted it.”

When 2D just stares at him, confused, he raises his own cup to his lips.

“Cheers.”

They drink. Immediately, the taste hits 2D like a speeding car and he sputters and coughs.

“There’s liquor in this!”

“Keep your voice down, bloody puritan,” Murdoc growls, then grins down at his mug in satisfaction. “It’s just a tipple. Not even that – just the tiniest, weensiest little drop of gin.”

2D smells the contents of the cup and pulls a face.

“Smells like it’s at least half.”

“Just drink it and shut up.”

2D sips the beverage meekly. The day-drinking isn’t particularly helpful, and he realizes belatedly is probably not the wisest thing to do since he’s got to go to the hospital when the ambulance arrives.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself, for what it’s worth,” Murdoc muses. 2D peers over at him, hoping he’s not too obvious. Murdoc just looks so damn _cool,_ his mop-top mussed and his black roll-neck jumper dusted with flour. If not for the ashy smudge on his cheek where a bit of exploded tent had hit him, he’d have looked like he’d just finished three rounds of marathon sex in the kitchen.

“You’re not great,” he continues, oblivious to 2D’s hungry stare. He gestures with his fag as he talks, the smoke trailing through the air. Elegant. He looks elegant, but in an unrefined, completely unintentional way, like a raw gem. “You’re mostly shit. But you’re not the _most_ shit. Also, you’re pretty, and that always makes for good T.V.”

2D stammers something inane in response, ears burning.

“Anyway, it would’ve been Noodle to go, today, I think.”

“But she’s the favourite to win!”

“Yeah, yeah, so says everyone and his bookie. Listen, here’s the inside track, right? Way I see it, she’s sunk her chances the minute she put matcha in her scones. You _know_ the judges’d try it and write it off as grassy. It’s just a battle you _cannot win._ ”

2D considers this quietly. The matcha is a factor that, admittedly, does change the odds a bit, though probably not enough to keep him off the chopping block.

“I dunno,” he sighs at last. “I made a complete dog’s breakfast of the technical.”

“Everyone did,” Murdoc snorted. “It wasn’t ‘cooking over a fire pit’ bad but really, wagon wheels in an hour? Paul himself always does it in two.”

“What’ll you do – if you win, I mean?”

The question just comes out without bidding, and 2D immediately regrets it. Everyone else has been incredibly forthcoming with their own ambitions – how they hope to nab a book deal, how they’d love to get a job baking for royalty – but Murdoc’s been private about it – telling the camera crew infuriatingly little in interviews. It feels intimate. Secret. Need-to-know.

“I think I’ll do a line off my cake stand, give the flowers to someone I fancy, and parley my new-found fame into catering backstage for the Stones. You?”

“Er… I was gonna give the cake stand to my mum. And the flowers too, I suppose. I don’t really have any long-term plans.”

“Well, good. Then it won’t matter as much when you don’t win,” Murdoc says with a bit of a sneer. He sighs and crushes his cigarette under the pointed toe of his boot.

“Looks like your ride is here, Mr. Pot.”

He gestures at the ambulance approaching down the road. 2D reaches a hand up and, rolling his eyes, Murdoc helps him to his feet.

“Don’t let them implant you with any strange microchips and always make sure the one doing the prostate exam is a real doctor,” he says sternly.

“O-okay.”

“And Stu?”

He blinks at that, a little startled. Murdoc’s voice has gone soft. Fond even.

“I’ll keep the vultures busy for a while. I’m alright playing the villain, really. Besides, Paul’s been getting under my skin – I’d like to rile him up a bit. Make those blue eyes really flare for me.”

2D laughs at that, and nods his thanks, stamping out his own fag before he can get caught with it and getting onto the ambulance without complaint.

It turns out being caught in a minor explosion isn’t great for a man with a history of head injuries. 2D is kept home for medical reasons, not permitted to return. He supposes it’s for the best, and it does make it less awkward for him, not being there while they replace all the stuff he damaged. He mopes for the rest of the season, sulking in his bedroom and trying not to think about how much he misses the friends he’d made on-set – some more than others.

When the season airs, he’s not convinced he’ll watch it. Even sitting on the couch with his Mum and Dad, he’s not convinced he’ll _stay._ He’s still debating bolting when the episode begins, but then he sees Murdoc swearing at a bit of short-crust pastry that won’t roll out properly and his heart does a little flip.

He watches each week, fearing the inevitable. It’s been cringey enough to watch himself awkwardly muddle through tasks. Murdoc was right – his cuteness is basically the only thing the fans focus on. On the one hand, it means they overlook his failures more than they otherwise might, but on the other, it humiliates him to think he was only included at all to be eye candy.

The explosion is edited dramatically, and there’s a bit of footage – just a bit – of Murdoc and him sitting beside the tent’s most structurally sound remaining wall. They clearly didn’t get much, though, because they use the same shot at least three times.

To his surprise, the focus then changes to Murdoc, who ‘accidentally’ gets caught drinking in the newly restored tent, and reprimanded. The editing makes it look as though his negligence very nearly starts another fire, and doubts are raised as to whether or not 2D really caused what the fans are now calling #Flourmageddon.

A note at the end of the episode reveals he voluntarily withdrew from the competition shortly after.

When 2D logs onto Twitter later, he finds he’s been sent a lot of support from thirsty fans, and only a bit of ridicule. He also finds he has a DM from, of all people, Murdoc Niccals. He opens it and it contains nothing but a cell number and then words ‘wanna talk?’

Holed up in his childhood room, long legs drawn up to his chest, 2D shakily texts the number.

**saw wut u did on gbbo. lied 4 me??? :O**

He waits, anxiety making his stomach hurt. The notification nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

_Not a lie – was drinking. Had been the whole time, tho. Anyway, no harm done, really. Btw, what’s your address? I need to send you something._

Hesitant, 2D takes a moment to check that the original message was, indeed, from the _real_ Murdoc Niccals, and not some deranged fan. Satisfied that it is, he sends his information over and waits. When there’s no reply, he takes the initiative.

**wut u sendin me?**

The reply comes back quickly.

_Flowers. Told you._

2D frowns.

**told me wut lol :/**

_*eyeroll*_  
_Told you – if I won, I’d give the flowers to someone I fancied. Didn’t win, but that’s why I work for a living. Don’t need Channel 4’s handouts when you've got charm. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

2D stares down at the message and bites his lip, nearly vibrating from the stupid schoolboy flutter in his chest. Compared to a cake stand, this feels like the better prize, anyway.


End file.
